


Of Greater Importance

by Whatevergirl



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Madeleine Era, Poor! Javert, Trigger warning: Eating disorder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:41:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatevergirl/pseuds/Whatevergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Kink Meme Prompt: 'So, poor!Javert is so poor, that he rarely eats since most of his money tends to go into "more important matters" (that is, to upholding the law) Eventually, he starts to become so detached from food that he starts to avoid it all together.</p><p>Cue intentional starving. And then Madeleine!Valjean notices and takes it upon himself to nurse the Inspector back to health.'</p><p>(Makinghugospin Meme- Round 4, Page 26)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It started when Javert realised the money he had left over from previous years and better paid posts was drying up. He did not panic about it, simply began taking more notice of what he was spending and where he could save money.

He already only rented out one room with his landlord. It was the man’s wife who kept charge of the place, but she made no comment when he informed her he would buy his own meals. The inspector was rarely in anyway, it would be less trouble for her if she did not have to guess whether or not his shift would be finished in time for a meal on any given night.

He soon stopped buying bread. It was an indulgence anyway, and he could survive without. He had survived without it, when he had been younger. He ate a lot of fruit, there was an apple orchard by the chapel of Sainte Jerome, and the priest had told him he was allowed as many as he could eat, whenever he wanted. It was a generous offer, and he had wondered if the priest required payment. The man had laughed softly, and told him to be at mass every Sunday; his presence in God’s house was payment enough.

So, Javert ate apples. He ate broth in various inns, places where it was cheap and he was not likely to be robbed by the time he sat down. He kept a close eye on his money though, even resorting to keeping it hidden away, he could not lose it. He had actually managed to set his coat on fire this time, by standing too close to a fire again. He had to remember to step back from them, but the days were cold and the fire warmed him nicely.

He had to keep his money for a new uniform though. An officer of the law had to be appropriately dressed, and his did his best not to have to patch up his clothing; a policeman did not have the same influence when he arrived at a scene in a patchwork uniform. Javert would not be mocked. His appearance would be perfect.

Not eating began to edge into an obsession when one of his colleagues made an errant comment, it had been joking, but it had struck a chord within Javert.

“You don’t want to be eating too much, you’ll burst out your uniform and have to buy a new one!” the comment had not even been directed at Javert, rather at the young new officer who had started with them. He had come from a well off family, but had a firm belief that the law must be upheld.

Javert had never considered that side of eating. It was a necessity, nothing more, but what would happen if he ate too much? He truly could not afford to buy a whole new uniform. He asked his landlady to stop his breakfasts as well. He assured her he would eat at the station, frowning at her when she expressed her doubts. 

He began to observe his reflection in mirrors. There was only a small mirror he used to shave in his room, but when he went to speak to people, their homes often held mirrors. He started using them to judge if he was close to ‘bursting out his uniform’... it would not do to gain weight, after all. 

He did not let this minor concern stop him from doing his job though. He was an inspector and he would do his very best for this town... and for this town’s mayor. The mayor was a wonderful man, with a beautiful if rare smile and the closest thing to a heart of gold Javert had ever seen. The man worried about everything though. 

When the man started claiming Javert was too thin though, it had hurt. Was the man mocking him? In his room, he had tried to use the mirror to observe if he had put on weight, if his face was too round... some reason for Madeleine to make such comments at him. He had stood with the small mirror for nearly ten minutes, trying to see what had changed on his bare body, before he realised what he was doing.

The mayor had not seen his bare body. The mayor would not want to see his bare body. Unlike the mayor, he was not an attractive man. He needed money to keep up a respectable appearance, to have a proper uniform. He had to pay for the polish for his shoes, to wash his clothes. The mayor would not care about what was under his clothing when the surface appearance was not correct.

He did waste some money though. He had a snuff box, and not eating was easier when he allowed himself to indulge in that. It was a treat, but he began to allow himself to use it when he lasted a whole day on just his lunch and still get all his work done. 

Work days were long though. He spent days running through the streets on Montreuil sur Mer, chasing law breakers and keeping himself distracted from his hunger. He often did not finish his work until nearly 10 o’clock in the evening, and sometimes he even took a night shift. More work meant more money, after all.

Saving would have been easier, except there was a problem. During one night shift, Bernard was attacked. He was a man about Javert’s age, but with a wife and three young children. He did not earn money when he was off.

The man made no complaint, but he forced himself to come into work, even when he was still bleeding. Bernard had gotten in the way of a knife meant for Javert. If the inspector had had his head focussed on what he was doing, rather than worrying about everything else, there would have been no problem.

He gave Bernard his savings. It was not terribly much, but it was enough to allow the man to go home and recover. He had saved Javert’s life after all, it was the least he could do for the man.

Javert began to check how much give his trousers had. Perhaps if he had a little more space in the waistline, he would not wear them out as quickly. It was a simple solution, he just continued eating only lunch, and he stopped agreeing to meet up with people in public houses and other eating establishments. Raoul was a young man who believed a hot meal could get anything out of a suspect, or a witness. Javert started sending in someone else to accompany him. His stomach had recently started churning whenever he smelt food. The idea of standing in a public house, waiting for someone to cough up information made him nauseous.

He started heading into work early, trying to get there before the bakeries opened and the smell started to permeate the streets. He did not sleep well anyway, so his time was better spent here.  
He knew he could not afford the time off anyway. He was the Law; the Law did not sleep, it did not stop for food breaks, or to wipe the tears from women’s eyes. The Law was exact, and so Javert was too.

He kept things ordered, and he was strict about it. The mayor, however, threw a clog in these works, and kept trying to get him to spend more time at the factory. Monsieur Madeleine insisted on inviting him over for meals, to spend an evening with him.

Javert refused. It would not be proper, and he had not forgotten how the mayor had mocked him several months ago. Javert did not appear any more attractive than he had then. He had not really lost enough weight to be comfortable standing before the mayor. 

He started sending Bernard to give the mayor the reports. The man had come back to work, but Javert did not want him doing anything strenuous. It was an added bonus that Madeleine did not have to see him now. It hurt to consider but the mayor probably preferred it this way anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Jean Valjean was a worried man. He had not seen the Inspector Javert in weeks now, and he hadn’t liked the look of him when he had last seen him. The man was thin. He wore his charred great coat, which hid the worst of it, but before the man had stopped delivering reports himself, he had taken his coat off to sit down and talk with the mayor. 

Valjean was worried more than ever that the man refused to see him. Officer Bernard was a wonderful man; he was kind and always happy to repeat any part of his report. He had been stabbed in early summer, trying to keep Javert out the way of a knife. The man was not bitter about it though, and he happily spoke of how good the inspector was. 

The mayor now had to rely on Bernard to know how Javert was doing, to know if he had lost anymore weight. The man did not really seem to understand what was being asked of him though, and Valjean was getting sick of it. He had once tried to express his concern to Javert, to get the man to see he needed several good meals, but he man had seemed so hurt at the comment that Valjean had allowed him his distance for a time.

However, it had now been too long a time. He had inquired when Javert’s work hours were, and had been surprised to learn the man never left before 10 in the evening, and was often working as early as 6 o’clock in the morning. He asked Bernard why Javert worked so much, but the man had simply replied the inspector did not seem to sleep well anymore.

The mayor of Montreuil sur Mer planned to rectify the situation. He would not; he could not allow this to continue.

The air was cold, even inside the police station. It was late in the evening, and there were few officers about. They saw the man walking with determination towards Javert’s desk at the back of the station, and scattered, shouting they were going outside to smoke and keep an eye on people.

Valjean barely spared a thought as to how he must have scared them if they were willing to smoke outside, where it was raining. His focus was on the inspector sat with his head resting in his arms.

“Javert, I need a word.” The man mumbled, his head rolling slightly, but he did not sit up.

“Javert! Wake up!” The inspector did so, lifting his head to blink sleepily at the angry man before him.

“Huh?” he murmured.

“For goodness sake, Javert. What is the matter with you?”

“Monsieur le Mayor?” His voice was rough with sleep. It was a tone that would usually set Valjean’s heart fluttering, but his annoyance kept it in check. “What do you mean?”

“The problem that currently holds my attention, Javert, is you.”

“I don’t understand...”

“Javert. I do not wish to speak here. There are too many ears.”

“Monsieur?”

“Come, get your coat. We shall go back to my home and discuss this there.”

The man glared at him, as though it would deter him. Valjean grabbed the inspector’s great coat and helped the protesting man into it. They left the station, stepping out into the rain and hurrying through the streets. Javert tried to trail behind, but Valjean kept a hand on his arm and did not let go.

Once at his home, the housekeeper took their coats and insisted they went upstairs to change. Javert had objected, stating he had nothing to change into, but Valjean told him to get upstairs anyway.

Once in Valjean’s room, Javert stood with his arms clamped across his body and his head bowed, as though waiting to be scolded. The older man simply left him standing there and stripped off his clothing, grinning at the flush the spread over Javert’s face as he kept his face turned away.

Valjean kept his back to the wall anyway. Lash marks could easily be explained away as remnants of an overbearing father, but he preferred to avoid the topic altogether. He dropped his soaked clothing by the door, and pulled on dry trousers and a dry shirt. He then turned his attention to the man stood dripping wet in the centre of his room.

“Shirt off.”

“What?” Javert shot him a startled look.

“Remove your shirt. It is soaking and you will make yourself sick.” Javert shook his head, glaring at him again.

“A little rain is hardly going to hurt me. I’ll manage.” Valjean stepped towards him, trying to find some patience within himself.

“Off.” Javert stepped away, flattening himself against a wall and curling low. He reminded Valjean of a cat, hissing at someone in fear. He took another step, though it was more wary. He did not actually want to appear a threat.

Javert made no move to remove his shirt though, and Valjean stepped close. The inspector straightened up, head still tilted to the side, as though he could not look the mayor in the face. Valjean raised his hands and removed Javert’s jacket. He dropped it over a chair, and began to unbutton his shirt.

Javert was gasping, he noticed, his usually blank face flooded with various expressions. Valjean stopped. He wanted to make a point, but he did not want to terrify the man.

“Javert, calm down. It distresses me to see you like this.”

“M-Monsieur, I think I should just take my leave.”

“Javert...” he was unsure of what to say, of how to settle the man. “Javert, I do not care what you look like. I just want you to be healthy. Come, let us get you into something warm and dry.”

Javert gave him an uncertain look, but permitted the man to remove his shirt. Valjean managed to hold in a gasp, but only just. The inspector was as thin as the men who wasted away in prison. His ribs rutted out and his hips were clearly visible, pale skin stretched over them. Javert’s blush was fierce; it went down his chest and into the soft hair there. Valjean ran his hand gently across it as he went to push the shirt off Javert’s shoulders.

He held his tongue for the moment, simply handing the man one of his old shirts. Javert quickly pulled it on, focussing on buttoning it up while Valjean unfastened his trousers and uncovered more skin. They fell down, but remained tucked into his boots. Valjean winced slightly at his thoughtlessness, but took a moment to stare at the skinny man, drowning in a shirt that fell to mid thigh. There was something quite lovely about Javert in his clothing, however Valjean chose to push the man to sit on the end of his bed while he bent down to remove his boots and the remaining wet cloth. 

He did not say anything as he retrieved trousers for Javert to wear. He waited until the man had pulled them up and applied braces to keep them in position before he spoke.

“I want you to stay here.”

“Monsieur?”

“I want you to live here with me. I am sorry to be so blunt, but please.”

“Why?” Javert gave him a puzzled look as he stood staring at Valjean in his baggy clothing. Valjean stepped forward at took Javert’s hand, trying to decide how to phrase his thoughts.

“I... I want you here.” He muttered, unable to make himself say it, remembering how he had hurt Javert last time he had commented on his size. Javert gave him an odd look, it was nervous, perhaps frightened, but there was a certain amount of hope in it. Javert took a small step, so that he stood chest to chest with Valjean. He was twitching slightly, and he could not look the mayor in the face but the look on his face was now definitely both terrified and hopeful.

Valjean could not help himself. He pressed a kiss to the man’s cheek. This wonderful, foolish man. He was aware that Javert’s eating habits were not the only reason he wanted the man to live with him, but he had thought they would be easier to voice than this.

Now though, he brought his arms up to embrace Javert. The younger man returned it, but did not manage to relax. 

“Javert, please.” He whispered.

“If I must.” He responded, but Valjean grinned at the words. 

“Have you taken your evening meal yet?” he stepped back to look at Javert. The man frowned slightly and shook his head.

“I do not eat an evening meal.”

“Nonsense. Come, we will share one together.” Javert’s frown remained, but he allowed himself to be pulled out of the room and off to the kitchen. The housekeeper had left two bowls of broth out, and the mayor smiled. She was a thoughtful woman. 

He sat Javert down at the thick wooden table that stood in the middle of the room, thanked God for his food and began to eat. Javert pushed his own broth about in the bowl.

“Do you not like it?” he said, softly.

“I have already said I do not eat after lunch.”

“That cannot be good for you. Why ever not?”

“It is a waste of money.” The man stated, scowling at his meal as though it were a personal insult.

“If you move in here, you do not need to pay for whatever rooms you had. Now, you can afford it.” he stated bluntly. His head swirled with thoughts though, was Javert not paid enough? He had never received any complaint from the police; he only ever saw them for reports on what work they had done, never about the way things there administrated.

Javert slowly forced a few mouthfuls down, his face long and sour, and the food sat a long time in his mouth before he could bring himself to swallow. When he pushed the still mostly full bowl away, Valjean could not bring himself to object. He would just have to work on it.

“Shall we head to bed? There is a spare room beside mine. I am afraid I use it to store my books, and it is a bit of a mess, but even so...”

“That is fine.” Javert responded. Valjean handed him a nightshirt, kissed his forehead and left the man for the night.

In the middle of the night, he was awakened by the noise of someone moving around. He stood and hurried to stand by the kitchen door, listening as Javert moved outside to go to the toilet. He was about to head back to bed when he heard the man retching.

Valjean sighed and went out to sit in the small room beside Javert; he said nothing, simply allowed the man to lean against him when he exhausted himself.


	3. Chapter 3

When Javert woke up, the sun had rose high into the sky. It had to be at least ten o’clock in the morning. He stared at it for a moment, trying to remember the last time he had slept beyond dawn. He frowned when he took his eyes away though. He was not in the spare room he had settled down into last night. 

It took him a few moments to remember what had happen. The food he had forced down the previous evening had rebelled and come back up in the night. He remembered Madeleine sitting beside him, rubbing his side and trying to help him relax. He did not remember anything after that.

He hoped the mayor had not carried him to bed. He was not a small man, and the man might have an impressive strength about him but it could not have been easy. He scowled at the idea that he had inconvenienced the man so. He shuffled to the end of the bed and spotted the clothing the mayor had let him borrow the day before sat on a chair. His own clothing was nowhere to be seen.

Fine. Javert could take a hint. He stood, pulled off the nightshirt, stale with sweat as it was, and pulled on the clothes. In the kitchen, Madeleine was stood gazing out a window, a cup delicately cradled in his large hands. He looked over at Javert when he entered the room and a smile crept slowly onto his face.

“Good morning.”

Javert simply nodded, folding his arms across his stomach. He could feel a blush creeping up as he thought of Madeleine carrying him into his own bed last night. He was probably too heavy for the man to make it to the other room. Madeleine’s chamber _was_ closer. He wanted to apologise for bothering him, but he could not get the words past the lump in his throat.

“Join me for breakfast?” it sounded like an innocent request, but it filled Javert with an odd fear he was not used to. He shook his head quickly.

“My apologies. You were ill last night. Sit at the table with me while I break my fast?”

It was a reasonable request this time, and though he did not like the smell of food, he nodded and sat beside down. Madeleine put a cup of water in front of him, before smiling at sitting down with some bread and cheese to eat.

“I hope you don’t mind. It makes me uncomfortable if you have nothing.”

The man gave him a soft smile again, and Javert’s heart fluttered strangely. He accepted the cup. He ought to do his best to make the man comfortable.

“Where is my uniform?”

“Drying. But you are not working today, so it does not matter. Do you have a spare one to bring over? Your clothing needs a wash.”

“I have... a spare jacket, and two spare shirts. I’m afraid I only have only pair of trousers.”

“Do you need more? What do you wear in your spare time? I want you to be happy and comfortable here.”

Javert felt his heart ache as he looked at the man; the mayor’s face was so open, so sincere.

“I have a spare coat, and a pair of black slacks.” They had been an indulgence, something he had bought on a whim. It filled him with shame when he thought about it, but they were soft, of a good material, and he liked them. They had been purchased about two years ago, before he started to struggle with money, before he realised he had been spending far too much money on food...

“That is all?” The man looked shocked, though Javert was unsure why. He did not need any more clothing, why would he waste money he did not have on them? “Will you permit me to buy you a new great coat at least? Yours is, I’m afraid, still blackened.”

Could he allow the man to do that? It was true, he did need a new greatcoat and he wanted to look respectable during his everyday business... he gave a hesitant nod. He could just pay the man back over time. Madeleine smiled, before leaning across to him and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

The inspector flushed slightly, hunching his shoulder in for reasons he did not know. The mayor’s lips had been oddly soft, but warm. He could not remember anyone touching him in such a manner before. He had been a burden to his mother, and not an object of affection for anyone... he wanted to experience it again. He considered asking, but the idea the mayor might say no was too painful. He kept his desires to himself, trying not to be too hopeful that it could ever happen again.

Madeleine had kissed his cheek twice now. Surely, anything more would be selfish wishing on his part. He gave the man a smile, hoping it did not display all his worries, all his emotions, and he drained his cup.

“If I am not working,” he said, trying to keep his voice even, “what will we be doing today?”

“Oh,” the mayor beamed at him, as though he had managed the correct question, “I thought we could get to know each other a little better, maybe walk about the duck pond.”

He nodded. It sounded acceptable. Madeleine smiled at him, and finished off his food.

They ended up going for a walk first. The housekeeper had put together a lunch for them, though Javert did not know what she had packed, and dreaded finding out. He enjoyed walking beside Madeleine though. The man had lent him a coat to go over his shirt, but the inspector wore his own boots. 

The air was cold, and he could see his own breath. Several people greeted the mayor as they walked along, a few commenting that it looked like it may snow. Javert kept his thoughts to himself on this. He hated the snow. It made chasing criminals difficult, and he had to waste money on heating his room. Madeleine laughed with those he spoke with, and stated that he hoped the pond would not freeze this year. He explained as the two men carried on that last year ice had covered the pond, and several young men had decided to try impressing the Mademoiselles they wanted to court by trying to skate. The ice had not been thick enough, and instead of causing a good impression they simply caught a fever.

Javert could not help chuckling along with the other. His eyes twinkled in an unusual, but terribly attractive manner when he did and Javert like the look greatly.

“Shall we sit down over here and eat?” Asked Madeleine.

“Outside, monsieur?”

“Why not, my good man? Why not?”

Javert could not object, so they both sat down upon a bench and opened the knapsack with their food in it. The baguettes had been wrapped carefully. They were filled with cheese and a cooked meat Javert could not identify. He nibbled at the end of it, not really wanting to eat, but not wanting to disappoint Madeleine.

He watched as a young gamin of an unidentifiable gender shuffled close to an elderly woman. He hoped the child would not have sticky fingers, but then again, chasing someone down would help him avoid eating. His lunch may get dropped on the ground, after all. If he spilt his filling then perhaps the mayor would only make him eat the bread.

“Have you always wanted to be a policeman?”

“Excuse me?” the question was unexpected, and Javert turned his attention from the gamin to the mayor.

“You seem to constantly watch out for law breakers. I was just wondering if this was always so.”

“I... started out as a prison guard.” 

“Really? Did you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy it?” what an odd question. “Not really.”

“Why not?” Ah, the mayor must have decided to start his ‘getting to know each other’ stage.

“The man in charge, Pascal, he did not like me. I do not think he trusted me.”

“How could he not trust you? You are one of the most honest men I have ever met.” It was said with a smile, and Javert smiled slightly, taking the opportunity to put his food down, his stomach feeling nauseous already.

“Thank you, monsieur. But, I was suspected of helping one of the prisoners in their attempt to escape about two years after I came there.” He tried to keep a blank expression, but the incident still hurt. 

He had been just twenty when he had started to work at Toulon prison, and there had been two prisoners he had liked: 24601, or Valjean, a man who claimed he was being too harshly punished for a small crime, and 23998, or Mercier, a man who kept a smile on his face, an honest tongue in his head, and worked hard to do ask he was told. Mercier had always been kind to him, even though he was a guard and the man a convict. He had told Javert on many occasions not to worry for him, that being in jail would not change him. A man’s true heart was not easily changed, despite being surrounded by such corruption. The man had proven correct, and he had been released and rejoined the community.

Valjean, he had thought, was another good man who would not be corrupt by the scum of Toulon. If men were not so easily changed though, Valjean must have started out bad. He had gotten close to Javert slowly, over months, over years. When Javert had been twenty two, Valjean had used Javert’s distraction around him to escape. He had knocked the young guard out and run.

It hurt, but it taught Javert a lesson. Bad men did not turn good, and there were very few good men in Toulon. He never made the mistake of getting close to a prisoner again.

“What happened?” The mayor’s voice was soft, curious.

“He... got close. I dropped my guard and he knocked me out. He was recaptured, and I was severely reprimanded for it.”

“ _You_ were reprimanded for it?”

“Yes. I had my pay docked, and I received a lashing.” Madeleine gave him a horrified look. Javert realised he probably did not understand the lashing part.

“I was in Toulon as a child, monsieur. My mother was a convict and I was raised there.” He tried to decide how best to explain what he wanted to say, “Pascal was a guard there at the time. Not in command, but still pretty high up, I think. He took it upon himself to beat the convicts’ children, to make sure we knew right from wrong. I guess... that when he saw me making mistakes as a guard, years on, he decided to do the same thing.”

“He beat you? He was allowed? I do not understand. Why did he do so, and why did you not live with your Father instead?” 

“Oh, my father was in Toulon, sir.” Javert snorted slightly, “In fact, he was still there when I began as a prison guard. In the absence of a present father figure, Pascal felt a need to fill the roll. I received a lashing, I suppose, because he still saw me as a gypsy child, and no one was there to object.”

“Surely, you objected?”

“Of course, but I hardly counted as a voice of authority, monsieur.” Madeleine continued to look at him in horror. It made Javert uncomfortable. He picked up his baguette, picking at the bread in the hopes the mayor would stop gaping at him.

It worked, and Javert let out a sigh of relief. He threw the bits of bread in his fingers to the ground; perhaps the birds would enjoy it. He settled down and turned his gaze to the sky. The money as a prison guard had been less than it was as a police officer, but he had not had to pay for a room. There had been rooms for the guards to sleep in. He would have liked to stay there, but Pascal had been succeeded by an even worse man when he retired, so Javert had only been there about 12 years in total before he had had to escape.

This was a good job now though. He even had a friend, though; maybe the mayor was slightly more than a friend? Did men kiss each others’ faces? He was not sure.

“Eat. Do not let all that end up on the floor.”

He fixed a scowl at the man, but complied, putting a piece on his tongue, feeling its weight in his mouth. He felt sick again, but Madeleine was smiling at him, so he would keep going.


	4. Chapter 4

Javert was resting in the armchair by the fire. Valjean was stood by the kitchen door enjoying the sight. The inspector was trying to read through the day’s reports, but his eyes were drooping, and he kept dozing off. Valjean particularly enjoyed it when the man’s head hit his chest and he jerked awake again. 

He had not expected such an enjoyment, especially not in watching the man try to work. He was waiting for the point where Javert curled up and slept properly. He seemed so like a cat, settled in front of the fire, that Valjean was sure it would happen at any moment.

Their day together had given Valjean some interesting things to think. They had spent the whole afternoon walking around the park. It had started to snow, the little flurries of white swirling through the air, dropping the temperature that last bit. They had spent a foolish amount of time outside, watching the snow, watching the dirt of the streets covered with a blanketing white fluff.

Beautiful. It had been beautiful. Javert had tipped his head back and allowed the snowflakes to fall onto his face, those delicate drops sitting for a moment, then melting. Despite the pain in the man’s face, left over from their luncheon conversation, he had been beautiful. Valjean had wanted to kiss him, but they had been out on the street, and he knew Javert would not allow any form of public affection.

He smiled, and walked over to kneel in front of Javert. He took the papers that were slipping from his hands and put them to the back of the chair, out the way of the fire. He gasped Javert’s hands in his own and pulled the man forwards.

The mayor would have liked to bring up dinner, to ask Javert if he would share a meal. He knew he would be rejected, so he kept the soup that was warming up in the kitchen to himself. Javert would be eating, but he was not going to receive a choice in the matter.

However, the man foiled his plan by slumping forwards against him, the soft puffs of breath that fell on Valjean’s neck indicating he was asleep. The mayor just smiled. He shifted on the floor, pulling his inspector more fully into his lap. Javert did not stir.

“My dear Javert, you need to wake up.”

“Hmm...” Javert snuffled and rubbed his cheek against Valjean’s collar.

“Please, Javert. Come and sit at the table with me.” Maybe the man would manage a few mouthfuls of soup, but he would just concentrate on getting the man to the kitchen first. “Javert?”

“Table... Sure...” Javert shifted so he was kneeling too, and then began to push himself up. His sleepy blue eyes blinked up at Valjean, and the mayor heart clenched tightly. He would do anything to get this man back to the tough, no nonsense law keeper he was meant to be.

They shuffled over to the table, and while Javert sat heavily down in the thick chair at corner, Valjean picked up 3 cups and a bowl. He filled two of the cup with water from the jug that sat covered in the pantry, and he placed them on the table, one in front of Javert. He filled the remaining cup and the bowl with soup.

Placing the cup of soup in front of Javert, and putting the bowl on the table, he sat down for his dinner. He put his hands together and spoke his thanks before turning his attention to the man beside him.

“Javert. Please, finish both your cups.”

The man frowned at him, but sipped at his water. Valjean chose not to start up an argument straight away, he would wait till he had eaten; he would give Javert a chance to eat. They sat in silence; the mayor slowly making his way through the soup before him, the inspector slowing drinking his water.

“Soup, please.” He successfully kept the frustration out of his voice. However, the man needed to eat; if he lost much more weight he would need his great coat to prevent being blown away with every gust of wind.

Javert sighed quietly, but began to sip quietly at his soup, eyes shut as though he could not bear to look at food.

In the end, Javert did not manage to finish the cup of soup, but he did not seem queasy after getting through what he had eaten. Afterwards though, Javert seemed to wake up and gather energy. He unpacked his few belongings that he had picked up from his room after lunch.

They spent the next few hours playing a board game Javert owned, called The Soldier’s Game, which he had learnt during one of his first posts, in Giverny. He discovered in the course of the evening, while he was trying to get his hare counter past Javert’s hound counters, that Javert had spent a few years at Toulon, and then requested a transfer to somewhere else, before getting moved back to Toulon.

He had apparently really enjoyed being a guard, but was too uncomfortable working with Pascal. He had left once before returning to a job he had enjoyed; several times he had wanted to leave again, but he had been comfortable there, knowing what to expect and knowing what the trouble he had to deal with there was.

At the end of the day, when he could hear a cat while he was staring at the board, their game long since finished. He jumped slightly at the noise, glancing around the room. The fire had died to a soft glow, and in it he could see Javert slumped over once again in the arm chair, his face hidden in shadow.

“Javert?” He whispered. “Are you awake?”

“I’m trying not to be sick.” Came back the response. Valjean frowned slightly.

“Let’s get you settled better. Maybe once you get some proper sleep you will be fine.”

He stood, stretching his back and then he helped Javert up to his feet. Javert swayed slightly, his eyes drooping sleepily, and Valjean gave in to the temptation of kissing his nose. The inspector chased his lips, giving him a firmer kiss, deepening it, allowing his tongue to move around the other mouth.

“Sleep, my dear man. Let us say our prayers and get some sleep.” Javert quirked an eyebrow at him, but led the way to the mayor’s bedroom. Once there, the two men changed into night shirts quickly before kneeling down before the bed, in the glow of the two candles in the silver holders, to speak to God.

Valjean spent a relaxing night on his back, with Javert’s head resting on his shoulder, finding the man’s presence to be a warmth in the winter night. Javert slept the night, bothered by nightmares but he managed to keep his food down. It seemed oddly, like a successful night.


	5. Chapter 5

Javert did his best to accept that the mayor wanted him to eat more. He truly tried his best to fulfil the man’s wishes; after all he was indebted to him for allowing him to live in his home without worrying about rent. He continued to help Bernard with money; his wife was once again pregnant, as he had shared a few days ago. However, Madame Bernard was struggling with an ill humour that was worrying them; the doctor had told her to rest and to remember to eat. Bernard was spending less time than he wanted at the station, trying his best to help the woman pull through.

Javert did not exactly care for Bernard’s wife; he had only met the woman once, and she had threatened him to take good care of her husband, however, he did care for Bernard; possibly even considered the man a friend, as far as Javert could accept friendship. The man had not been entirely comfortable accepting Javert’s money, but had taken it with the promise to pay him back.

It was over a week after this, nearly three weeks after Javert had moved into Madeleine’s home that Casper, Javert’s horse fell ill. The stallion was fairly old, and Javert should have traded him for a younger police horse a few years ago. However, Casper was loyal, brave and Casper was Javert’s friend. The inspector had informed Paris he would keep the horse himself, agreeing when they told him he would have to cover any illnesses or visits to the smithy himself.

The animal had held strong for a time, and even though he was now old, not particularly capable of galloping quickly and often tired easily, Javert still rode him. The past winter had been bitter, and Javert had been concerned that Casper would not survive, but he had. It was typical that just as Javert was starting to relax as the ice and snow covering the streets retreated, his horse now fell ill. 

He had called out a doctor of veterinary medicine, hoping for some good news, but expecting the worst. The man had told him to keep the stables warm, to make sure the horse was well tended to and to feed him cowparsley, nettles, apples and tips of golden rod. Javert had made careful note of this, including his suggestion to let Casper explore bushes and woodlands to pick out what he wanted, but to avoid boggy areas that had hemlock and hogwort. 

Javert had paid attention, and then given the man his fee, which was far too much, but would be worth it if Casper survived. It was not that Javert meant to stop eating again, but he honestly had good reasons for it this time.

The first and most important was, again, money. He had to pay for the doctor. He also had to have money in case Casper did not improve; the doctor had promised to bring several potions and remedies he could make if the horse needed it. The man had agreed to come out next week, if Casper was still ailing. Javert needed money for this.

He was aware that Madeleine had told him not to worry about what he had to spend, but Javert could not ask the mayor to pay for a horse that was still in service simply because Javert had felt too attached to it. It would not be proper. 

Javert had also bought a thick blanket to go over Casper when he was in the stables. The nights here got very cold, and it would not do to have the horse even colder.

Another problem in eating was Javert’s appetite. It had been starting to come back, but now that he was spending time kneeling in a stall, combing Casper’s mane, his stomach felt full of some poison. Food did not go down anymore, he vomited up everything.

He knew he was worrying Madeleine again, that he ought to just explain his stallion was ill. However, speaking about it made him feel faint, as though admitting the words out loud would make it all too real; as though speaking the words aloud was synonymous with a death sentence. 

A week later though, and Casper had not improved; in fact, Casper had declined. Madeleine had forced the situation out of him when he had spotted Javert coming in late one night with silent tears falling down his fall cheeks, though Javert had not felt them begin.

The man had called him a fool, and explained that while he may not care for a horse that was past its prime, he did care for Javert. He had then proceeded to fulfil his need to be a hero and had written a letter to a more renowned doctor of veterinary medicine to come to their aid. Javert had felt torn between his gratitude in the help he was receiving and bitterness, as he was not some struggling damsel that needed help in everything.

He had spent the night pressed into Madeleine’s arms, wishing he could do more.

A week later and Casper died. Javert had walked to the stables in the morning, stopping by as he did to see Casper before starting his shift, but the stable boy had come to him with a grim countenance. Javert had understood before the child even opened his mouth.

He had gone to work with a heavy heart. The devastation he had felt to so strong it would have startled him to see, if he had not been experiencing it. He had struggled through the shift, and then headed back home. Madeleine was surprised to see him back so early, but had embraced him as he tried to speak the words.

Casper was dead.

His dear stallion... He remembered getting the young, excitable colt, tossing its mane in the cool autumn air. The young horse had taken to him quickly, though it had not seemed too happy about being taken from its rake of young colts to work for the police, but Javert had been taught to handle him well, and they had gotten along wonderfully.

He pressed his face into Madeleine’s neck, breathing in the comforting scent of the man and taking comfort in the rub of his hands. He had been eighteen when he had gotten Casper, having just joined the police. He had been going into the prisons to work as a guard, but his training officer had gifted him with a horse. It was an unusual gift, but the man had always had a soft spot for Javert...

The companionship of Casper had kept Javert going, even when dealing with the difficulties of the convicts, and of Pascal and the other guards. His only friend...

27 was a good age for a horse, really, but as Madeleine helped him out of his clothing, and into the bedroom, he wished they could have had more years together. It had been more than an animal, but a friend through hard times.

“Sleep.” Whispered Madeleine, pressing a kiss over his eye. Javert shut his eyes, feeling terribly glad the man had not brought up eating dinner.


	6. Chapter 6

It took nearly a week before Javert was willing to join Valjean for breakfast again. He was content to start sitting beside the mayor and drink his water. After Casper had died, Valjean had watched as his dear inspector had retreated into himself again. It had been sad to watch, but apparently the horse had been 27 years. Valjean had not even known horses could live so long. The animals he had encountered, dogs and cats mainly, never seemed to live beyond 14 or 15 years at the very most.

Javert was currently refusing to eat anything with meat in it; the sight of it in a broth yesterday had set him off, vomiting violently. It almost hurt that Javert was in his home so often now. He seemed at a lost with himself, unsure of what to do, as though not having to tend to his horse had left a gap in his life. Valjean felt a certain amount of guilt about his enjoyment of Javert’s company. He enjoyed spending time with the man.

They still spent every night together. They spent every night curled into one another, exchanging a few chaste kisses. Valjean pulled the man into bed with him, and they settled against one another; it was difficult not to find too much enjoyment at Javert’s weight resting on top of him.

He spent the nights without Javert, when the man was patrolling the streets, trying to find satisfaction. He dreamt of kissing Javert more thoroughly, of rolling over in the night and pinning him to the bed, of thrusting their hips together... he felt more lust than he could ever remember having before, yet he also felt love.

This love was different to anything he had experienced before. He wanted to hold the man each and every night, he wanted to kiss away his distress, he wanted to press kisses to every inch of Javert’s skin; more than that he wanted to see every inch of his skin. He could understand lust. He had seen it often in jail. Sometimes, in that place, they had called it love. He could understand love, to an extent. The Bishop had given him an unconditional love that had changed him. He knew the difference between the lust convicts felt, and his love for Javert. He even believed that he understood the difference between real love and the attachment that men felt to each other in close confines. 

He had spent time examining his feelings, but it wasn’t until Javert’s stallion fell ill and the man showed such fear, such concern that Valjean felt it in his own heart. He had watched the man slowly fall apart, forgetting to eat more often than not and only nibbling when he did eat. 

But a week later the man started to sit beside him while the mayor ate his food. It was a week after that that Javert made a real advance. He began to eat a slice of bread when he came down on a morning. Valjean had struggled not to beam at the man whenever he saw him for the rest of the day, pride for his achievement bursting from his chest. Javert was now eating something for breakfast, something for lunch and something for tea. Admittedly, lunch was still a slice of bread and tea was a cup of soup of broth, but it was a decided improvement. 

Valjean enjoyed watching Javert eat. There was something delicate about the way the man nibbled at his food that you did not see in his every day actions. At meal times, Javert would slowly chew his food, putting small amounts into his mouth and working them between his teeth for a great length of time. When he saw Valjean watching him, Javert flushed a beautiful colour and gave a shy smile. 

Valjean took great pleasure in watching Javert at any point in the day, not just when he was checking the man was eating rather than feeding the wildlife. At work, Javert was strong, bold and fierce. He could scatter the criminal population in a heartbeat. He did not quite understand compassion; Valjean had listened to his struggles on more than one night. Just yesterday, the man had been debating between a fine and a prison sentence for a young man named Michel who had been caught stealing. Javert had wanted to send him to jail for a short while, but he was a widower and his children would be unable to feed themselves, but fining him would have the same result.

It had sparked an idea in Valjean. He could set up a sort of food kitchen for the children. It would give people work, and it would feed children who were on the streets. He knew it would mean that men like Michel would be imprisoned, but Javert had assured him it was better to allow people to be imprisoned briefly and learn how to obey the law than to be continually fined. He had not been convinced, but Javert informed him that the widower was a drunkard since his wife had died, and jail would be more effective in correcting his ways than a fine.

They had eventually left the matter alone, as the matter had been discussed over breakfast and Javert had wanted to head out to the office before they had finished it.

That evening, Valjean took a step he rather regretted. He had pulled Javert into his arms and kissed him thoroughly, exploring every inch of his mouth. He ran his hands up and down that strong beautiful back and down to his buttocks.

Javert had groaned loudly and gripped his shoulders. It had been fantastic. It had been terrible. Javert had been kissing Jean Madeleine. Javert had not known he was kissing Jean Valjean. 

Valjean had managed to pull himself off Javert before heading to bed. His prayers had been difficult. He had not wanted to reflect on the day past, he did not want to thank God for the good parts of his day, _and_ the bad parts... he had spent a long time on his knees, trying to find order in the chaos of his mind.

Javert had smiled when he had gone to bed, lying himself down in Valjean’s blankets and snuggling in. Valjean had stood and watched him from the door frame, trying to decide whether or not to lie down with him. When his dear inspector had turned over and presented his back, leaving a large enough gap for Valjean, he had been unable to resist. He moulded himself to Javert’s back and kissed his nape.

With the comforting feeling over Javert’s back rising and falling with each breath, Valjean settled down, desperately hoping for inspiration in what to do. He wanted to take the man; he wanted to love him, and to show the younger man that he was loved. He hoped that Javert would be content to keep their interactions fairly chaste, for if the man pushed for more, Valjean feared that the lie he lived every day would become overwhelming and he would be unable to keep it up.

He did not want Javert to find out he was an ex convict; the man had certain insecurities and it would likely be painful for them both and Javert would decide he affections were false. They were not false though.

Jean Valjean loved Javert; he would do anything for him.


	7. Chapter 7

_I do apologise for the large gap in time since I last updated any of my stories. My laptop broke and it took me some time to save up for a new one. I just need the time to type my ideas up for my various stories._

\---

Javert spent time slowly eating his food. He was in the park, on the bench he used to eat with Madeleine. His mind was in a flurry of ideas; old suspicions had come back into focus. 

The mayor had humiliated him in front of his men. Just thinking the idea filled him with both pain and anger. He had argued with Javert, then swept the whore into his arms and carried her away. He had been keeping a distance from Javert, and now he was carrying a woman so close. He was not jealous. He was just... cautious. 

The mayor ought to not allow a law breaker against him like that; revealing his emotions in such a way made him vulnerable. She should be arrested, even if it was just while they investigated what really happened. You did occasionally get whores who rejected whatever it was a snob wanted them to do; they were then spun the occurrence to themselves appear the victim if it got out of hand.

A large amount of paperwork could make the rich idiot drop the charges and although the whore would spend a night in a cell, it was warmer than the streets and they got a hot meal.

Even so, for the mayor to take a law breaker to the hospital and pay for it himself? This did not send out the right image to others: That crime did pay, and it was out of the mayor’s pocket.

In his anger, Javert had done something he would not have done otherwise: He had written to the Paris Prefecture and accused Madeleine of being Jean Valjean. It was ridiculous. It was not until after the mail carriage had gone, taking his letter, that it occurred to him; he did not really have any good evidence, just a display of extraordinary strength four years ago and a resemble to a man who had left Toulon about eight years ago. His memory may not be entirely accurate on how Valjean had looked anyway.

He sat staring out at the thin layer of ice that covered the water. It would take some time for the letter to reach Paris, and a while longer for a reply to reach him back here. He had spent the past week lying in bed on his own; Madeleine had spent the past week at the hospital. Javert was unsure of whether or not he wanted the man with him; how could he sleep peacefully against him when he had sent such a serious letter off to Paris.

He was debating if he should get his own room again. He had been saving the money he was earning. Bernard was back at work full time and would not take any money off the inspector, so he had enough money to do so. He could afford it, and he would not have to look the mayor in the eye anymore, but would he be able to leave without Madeleine demanding a solid reason?

An even bigger worry was what if Madeleine did not even notice Javert had moved out? It would be painful if it took weeks for Madeleine to ask why Javert was not there anymore.

He had cut down on what he was eating again. Soon, he would be unable to live with Madeleine, regardless of what the response to his letter was. There were only two real outcomes to this: either he would be right, and Valjean had been living here under a guise for some time, or he was wrong and he had insulted his mayor by comparing him to a criminal. He would have to leave.

He was saving up his money again to move out. He would have to wait until there was an appropriate room; cheap enough that he would not spend all his wages, but he wanted one in a slightly better area than he had been in previously. Unfortunately, spending these past six weeks with the mayor had spoilt him, even so he would likely stay where he was until he got a reply.

\---

Valjean sighed as he watched Fantine; the poor woman was struggling, gasping as she called out to someone who was not there. He had spent the full week beside her, praying desperately to God to save her.

He worked hard during the day, and then left for the hospital. The sisters were kind and thoughtful, bringing him a simple meal to fill his stomach. Javert had not spoken to him since they had argued on the streets; he was always asleep in bed when he got in on an evening and the man left before Valjean woke up on a morning. It was a shame; Valjean did miss eating breakfast together, sitting in a sleepy silence while they nibbled on bread.

He glanced back over at the thin woman, now sleeping peacefully. He did not want to leave yet, his fear that she would waste away over night was strong and he wanted to stay and wait just in case. 

It was pointless for him to stay though, the sisters would keep a watch over her; he could be at home with Javert instead. Valjean sighed and pushed himself up. Javert... He did want to spend more time with the man, and he did miss the grumpy inspector, however Valjean was lying to the man in every moment they were together. 

He was lying to Javert in the worst way; Javert would never willing sleep with, or cuddle up to a convict. He would never be so physically affectionate with a man who had not only been in prison but had broken his parole. Yet Javert would smile at Jean Madeleine when he came in the door; he would allow himself to be coaxed into eating, or spending time together. Coaxed into coming home on time, rather than spending all his spare time working.

He had managed to stop himself going further. As much as Valjean fantasised about pushing Javert down and licking every inch of his body, then fucking him for a long time, slowly into the bed.

He walked through the town, back to his home. He walked through the falling snow with tears glistening in his eyes. It was easier to focus on Fantine, to wonder who it was she cried out to and to check she had enough food and a comfortable bed. It was easier than deciding if it was alright to stay like this with Javert, or if it would be better to force the man to be on his own again. 

Was it kind or cruel to be with him like this? Kind to keep him so close, because he made Javert smile, and cruel because he lied. To change things around would be kind, because Javert always desired honesty, and it would be cruel because Javert currently trusted him with his feelings, and he would be forced to be so alone.

He sniffed as his nose began to run in the cold, and he turned up his garden path. Coming in, he headed into the front room, where there was a fireplace. It was unlit. Unexpected, but it was as cold in here as it was outside, so it can’t have been lit recently.

Valjean headed through and into the kitchen. Javert was there, making a meal.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening.” Responded Javert, his lack of surprise hinting that Javert had once again heard him once he entered the house.

“What are you making for dinner?”

“Just bread with some jam. I can heat some soup if you would like something?”

“You should be heating soup for yourself, Javert. Bread and jam is not a filling meal after a busy day.”

Javert raised his brow, but turned back to his meal without saying anything. Valjean stepped closer, looking up and down Javert’s frame. He had been filling out again, but if the man had stopped eating properly since they had argued, he had not lost enough weight for it to be obvious.

It was another reason not to break this off though; Javert’s eating habits before they had lived together had been appalling. Their month and a half together had helped, but he had a feeling the man would not keep up three meals a day if they split from one another.

He wrapped his arms around Javert, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. They stood together for a few moments but then Javert turned away to heat some water.

“Tea?”

“Please.”


End file.
